A Bitter Pill Is Sometimes Sweet
by Ink Stained Quill
Summary: Human AU. When Elizabeta is forced into an engagement, she (quite rashly) resolves to run away. Problem? Several: she's wealthy, headstrong, and she's a she. Not the best combination for this time period. Can a complete stranger make her see reason? AustriaHungary. RoderichElizabeta.


**A/N:** A little bit of AU Austria-Hungary fluff. It's my first venture into writing for Hetalia, but I do love the show! ConCrit appreciated!

Written for the Unattainable Dream's Prompt Exchange Challenge.

_"For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul."-Judy Garland _**[Sent by Holy Angel Heart]**

Thank you! I hope I did it justice. It was a really beautiful prompt.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Elizabeta's mouth dropped open in horror after her father's sudden bombshell announcement. The world was falling apart around her, imploding from within. Except she was still standing in the middle of her father's study, her hands fisted in her rich green, embroidered gown, the room ringing with a tense silence. Her mother stood behind her father, a hand resting supportively on his shoulder as they both gazed at her, wearing similar expressions of delight.

Elizabeta, on the other hand, was anything but delighted.

"You want me to get _married_!" she shrieked, taking a step back to balance herself before she fell over out of shock. Her parents' smiles faltered. "I'm _eighteen_! I want a career, a life, a chance to _do_ something. You can't take this away from me! Do I look like I want to get married?"

Her mother stepped forward, trying to smile encouragingly. She took Elizabeta's hand with one of hers and cupped her face with the other. "You've had a wonderful time in school, but this is a new chapter in your life, Elizabeta. I married your father when I was eighteen, and I've had a wonderful life with the two of you. It's your turn now."

Elizabeta snatched her hand away. "Mother, you spent your life cooped up in this prison of a mansion. I would never be happy stuck in the same routine life, day after day." Her mother's eyes opened wide and she stepped back as though her daughter had slapped her. Elizabeta felt a flash of remorse for her harsh words, but her shock quickly drowned in in rising anger. "You promised me–"

"Enough!" her father boomed, as he rose to step toward the pair of women. Count Hérderváry was an imposing man and when he was angry, he seemed to double in size until he towered intimidatingly over the poor object of his fury. Elizabeta clenched her hands tighter into the material of her skirt in an attempt to not shrink back. Her father continued in a low, almost whispering, voice, which still seemed to resonate throughout the room. "I agreed that you would be able to finish your higher education, that you would remain unmarried until then. That is already far more than I should have. A curse upon my leniency!

"All the eligible girls your age are already married for at least two years. You are lucky that _any_ man has agreed to marry you. And might I remind you that I promised nothing beyond what had been completed? Do you dare to accuse me of lying?" He straightened regally. "This nonsense has gone on quite long enough. You are a member of the honored Hérderváry family, one of the most prestigious families in all of Hungary. Your betrothed will be arriving tomorrow night to meet you. Do not bring shame upon this name, and_ compose yourself, child!_"

Elizabeta stayed there, trembling and silent for a moment. Then she spoke, her voice hoarse as though it had not been used for centuries.

"I apologize, Father, for my brashness," she intoned monotonously. "I beg your leave to retire to my room and prepare for the visit." Her mother looked at her husband hopefully. The Count looked at her, suspicious at her sudden acquiescence, but slowly nodded all the same.

Elizabeta fled.

She threw herself on her bed, slamming the door. Her mind was racing; a figure took shape – an aristocratic, cruel, power-hungry, puffed-up snob, who left her in his shadow, a pale imitation of who she really was. She saw herself, fading away as silhouettes of empty children surrounded her and the entire world changed and left her behind. She saw her own grave, no one to mourn her, just another name to add to ever-branching family trees.

She flew up with a strangled cry, "No!" A maid hurried in a moment later, her eyes wide with worry, but Elizabeta waved her off and shut the door with a snap, locking it firmly this time.

"I-I can't," she said aloud, watching herself in her mirror. "I can't live like that." She squared her shoulders and calmed herself, although her heart was pounding. "If Father will not let me choose my own life, then I have to take matters into my own hands. I shall leave. Tonight." Nodding firmly, she began to pull out items to pack.

Two plain school dresses, which would help her blend in. A pair of sturdy walking boots. Money, which she stowed at the very bottom of the bag. Her bag began to bulge as she shoved more and more items into it, sentimental trinkets and necessities alike. After an hour, she looked in her bag a final time. There was just enough room to stow some food for her journey. Heaving the bag off her bed, she hastily shoved it beneath her vanity table, letting the silken covering fall to hide it completely. She peeked out of her room and growled in frustration at the number of people hurrying around to prepare for her _fiancé's_ visit. Even her mind spat the word like a curse.

_I'm never going to get to the kitchens! _

* * *

Dinner was a tense affair. Elizabeta bordering on skittish, was terrified that she would slip up and reveal her plans. The Count and Countess conversed quietly about the arrival of these oh-so-important guests. After pushing her food around on her plate for nearly twenty minutes, Elizabeta hastily ate a few bites and excused herself from the table. Her mother agreed absently and the girl hurried to her room.

The last few hours of waiting were excruciating. She had changed dutifully into her sleepwear and huddled in her bed until the Countess came in, stroking a gentle hand over her daughter's presumably sleeping face and whispered, "Oh my angel, all grown up." The feather-light kiss brushed against her temple nearly made Elizabeta weep with remorse, but she bit her cheek to control herself. Now, sure that everyone had gone to bed, the girl slipped out of the covers and paced, forcing herself to remain awake. It wouldn't do to simply sleep away her precious hours.

The house came to a dead silence as all the servants retired. She quickly changed into a simple dress, tied a white kerchief over her wild brunette curls, pulled out her bag and set out for the kitchen. There was a loaf of bread neatly sliced and ready for any snacks the family might request. Elizabeta sent up a quick prayer of thanks that their chef was so prepared in advance for anything. She packed half the loaf in her bag along with a tin of cookies and a travelling flask of water.

A sense of euphoria filled her. This was it; this was her life, her adventure. She quietly snuck out the back door, avoiding the guards. Growing up in this house had given her plenty of practice evading the guards and learning their rotations. At the edge of the wood that bordered their property, she turned and gazed back at her house once more. It was just a few pinpricks of light in the distance.

"Mama, Papa," she murmured. "Goodbye." And she slipped away.

In seven hours, the Lord and Lady of the house would rise and a maid would be sent to wake Elizabeta. In seven hours and fifteen minutes, the maid would race back, face pale and terrified, screaming that the young mistress had vanished in the night, and the Countess would faint and the Count's face would drain of all color as his heart clenched with fear for his missing, darling girl. In seven hours and twenty minutes, the entire Hérderváry household would be searching for any trace of the girl, the chef would report the missing items in the kitchen, and the maid the items from Elizabeta's bedroom. In seven hours and twenty-five minutes, the house would know that their dear wild young mistress had run away, and it wouldn't matter how much they searched because she was long gone.

* * *

The sun shone through the small gaps between the leaves, falling directly on Elizabeta's face. She scrunched up her face, startled into waking and looked around, wondering why her back was hurting.

"Eep!" she cried, clutching the trunk of the tree behind her. She was about ten feet off the ground, curled in a fork of some tree branches, which she had crawled into last night. "Oh, right, I left last night." Her heart began to pound with the realization, but she busied herself before she gave in to the panic. Quickly, she grabbed her bag and set off to find the small creek she knew ran here…somewhere…

After wandering for nearly an hour, she _finally_ came across it. Or rather, she fell into it. Spluttering from her sudden drenching, she began to undress and quickly bathe. Reveling in the warmth of the sun contrasting with the cool water, she closed her eyes and sank onto the smooth-pebbled creek bed.

"Oh – oh my, I'm sorry," a voice suddenly spoke behind her. Elizabeta shrieked, spinning and trying to cover her modesty, although it was slightly pointless at this stage. There in front of her stood the most gorgeous man she had ever seen – which made her feel all the more self-conscious about her nudity. He was tall with dark hair that tied into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, wearing a thin-rimmed pair of glasses. He was dressed in a slim fitted shirt and trousers with a long eggplant-colored overcoat. _Hmm, gorgeous, and slightly delicious,_ she thought absently with the small part of her mind that wasn't panicking. Of course, he seemed to be as embarrassed as she was, and didn't seem to know what to do with himself. He just stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Can I help you?" she asked him, praying he would leave.

He started. "Uh, er, I-I, um, I'm sorry!" The man turned and fled, red-faced. Elizabeta rolled her eyes, her embarrassment long forgotten. She finished her bath, dressed, and opened her bag for some food. She was about to eat when there came yet another disturbance. Well, really, the _same_ disturbance. The same young man walked in backward, muttering to himself; she watched him with a raised eyebrow before taking pity and clearing her throat. He jumped a mile in the air, whipping around and staring at her. It took him a moment (she stared at him, waiting), but then he realized who she was and flushed a bright red once again.

"Can I hel- oh forget it – sit!" Elizabeta ordered, gesturing to the ground beside her. He looked slightly taken aback but sat immediately. "Now, why are you wandering around? Are you lost? Or just taking a walk?" She pulled out a cookie and pushed it into his hands, while he stared at her bewilderedly.

He munched on the cookie a bit then answered. "Bit of both. I took a walk to clear my head and I can't seem to find my way back to the main road. I could swear it was here somewhere," he trailed off, frowning and looking around to see if the main road was perhaps hiding beneath a bush.

Elizabeta laughed and shook her head. "No, I'm afraid the road is quite a ways away. In fact, you're nowhere close. Why are you even here? No one lives around here for miles."

The man sighed. "I'm off to sign my future away," he said morosely, glaring at the half-eaten cookie, as though this were its fault. "To someone I have never met in my life. I will inherit my father's position and everything I love will disappear until I am a shell of myself." He blinked. "Sorry, I'm not usually this melancholy. Or poetic. What is a fine lady like yourself doing here in the wilderness?"

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow, trying to avoid the question. "You just saw me bathing in a stream." He blushed as she continued. "Not to mention my skin is as brown as a peasant's. What makes you think I'm a fine lady?"

"Your hands are smooth," he said, nodding at them. "And your bearing speaks of a noble upbringing, if not royal. Also, your dress, even if it is a peasant's style, is made of cloth too fine and rich to be owned by a pauper."

She nodded, satisfied, and leaned back against the tree. "So, what is it you love that you fear will disappear?"

The man's eyes lit up, and he smiled softly. "My music. My beautiful piano. Oh, you should see it. Keys of dazzling white ivory and black ebony. The wood is a rich mahogany and the strings sing like _angels_." He looked at her. "You see, I can't marry anyone, for I am already married to my darling love." Then his face dropped. "Until my father orders it to be taken away so that I may _focus_," he spat the word out, "on running his business empire like the power-hungry sadist he wants me to be. But his word is law, and so here I am, attending my own funeral." He laughed bitterly. "This escape – I begged to leave the carriage to stretch my legs, can you imagine? A man at my age, begging? – it is the last few precious hours I have left. And you?"

"It's a small world," she laughed softly. "I am here, same as you; although I am running away," her tone took on a bit of pride. "I can't live my life in chains, wondering day after day when I will become an anachronistic mimicry of the person I am now." Her face hardened at the thought, and she plucked a few blades of grass, savagely ripping them to shreds and tossing them aside. " I convinced my father to extend my education, and I learned _so_ much, but what is the use if I am to be unceremoniously squashed by some boorish husband who doesn't care? I am not afraid of anything. Except, perhaps, having what little freedom I have taken away until my status as 'wife' is little better than 'prisoner'."

He laughed at that, but she did not see the humor. "And your solution is to run away?" he asked incredulously. "To simply leave your problems behind?" She sputtered but he simply steamrollered over her. "If it were that easy, I would have left too. Can you imagine? A musician stuck with some stupid, flittering, air-headed woman who doesn't know a B flat from an F sharp? To whom Vivaldi and Grieg are the same? Who cannot distinguish an Adagio from an Allegro? Can you imagine? It will be a living hell." The man's eyes were flashing and his chest was heaving. He was furious, and Elizabeta later reflected that he was not angry with her but, rather, with himself, for entertaining the idea of running and not being able to follow through; for now, though, she was scared and a bit angry. "Where will you go? What will you do? Find work? A woman in this time and place? Have you not thought of your parents? What will they do when they realize their daughter is missing? Do you not even care? I am the only child of my parents and it would devastate them if I left. You can't make stupid, rash decisions when they hurt everyone around you."

His words recalled her parent's proud faces when they had told her she was to be married. They had wanted the best for her for so long. Her mother, who never truly understood her wild daughter but loved her all the same. Her father who loved her so fiercely, despite the fact that she was not the son that all men wanted, and had allowed her to continue her education. Guilt welled up in her, along with shame. What must they have thought when she had disappeared? That sweet maid Lara, who must have been sent to wake her – she always snuck Elizabeta a few sweets, and covered for the girl when she needed a break from being a rigid lady – would have been horrified, but perhaps she expected it. Chef would miss her terribly; she had always been his favorite pupil and she never failed to procure him the best supplies.

Anger took over, mostly at herself, but she directed it at the man. "Shut up, you stupid prissy boy!" she shouted. _Oh, lovely insult. Don't you have anything better?_ She mentally berated herself. "You – you don't know anything!" Her voice broke on the last few words and to her horror a few tears slipped down her cheeks. She wiped at them furiously. At the sight, the fight seemed to go out of the man and he deflated sitting back down. Neither of them had realized he had jumped up in his fury.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "Please don't cry. You're very stupid, but I didn't mean to make you cry." She let out a half-laugh. "So, I've told you about my music. What do you love?"

She wiped her eyes again, tremulously. "My books. Climbing trees. Stealing trousers and wearing them around the house." He raised an eyebrow. "What? They are far easier to move around and climb trees in. Cooking. Fencing." She paused and laughed. "I suppose I'm not much of a lady at all. That's what Father said. That I'm lucky that any man would want to marry me. Why doesn't what I think matter?" she asked suddenly.

"Because you're a woman. Ouch!" He jumped, rubbing his arm where she'd punched him. "What? It's true. No father would allow his daughter to go unmarried and do what she likes. It would ruin her reputation. And his. You know, you shouldn't have run away. Your parents were just trying to secure the best future for you. Even if it's not ideal, it's better than the alternative. Besides, it will shame your father in the face of everyone he knows. It's the same for me. If I don't get married, there won't be anyone else suitable to take over the business once I eventually step down."

Elizabeta sighed. "What do I do?"

The man gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "You go home. You apologize for running away and you endure the best you can. Wealth and status come with a bitter pill we must swallow. But – you have charm, and if it makes a difference, I think you make a fine lady."

Elizabeta smiled. "I'd marry you," she said bluntly. To his credit, he said nothing, but blushed slightly and smiled.

He stood. "I'd better be getting back. Will you show me back?" She nodded, and stood as well. She grabbed his hand and set off for the road. They said nothing, falling into a comfortable silence. A while later they finally began to see the road through the trees. People in uniform were swarming about. Elizabeta quickly let go of his hand as one of the men spotted them.

"Master Roderich!" he cried, dashing toward them. "We were all so worried. Lady Edelstein was out of her mind with concern. She will be glad to know you are safe."

"Thank you, Felix," the man – _Roderich_, her mind supplied – said, his voice detached and unlike the tone he had used earlier. He turned to her, ignoring the men surrounding him. "Do you need assistance, wherever you are going?"

Elizabeta shook her head. "No I shall be quite alright. After all, I know my way home quite well."

His eyes sparkled. "Well, I wish you all the best in the future. Thank you." He bent and kissed her hand, before walking away, head held high. She watched him go before turning and swiftly making her way back home.

* * *

She entered into a pandemonium. Lara was the first to see her bedraggled form in the entrance hall and she let out a scream, throwing herself at her mistress and sobbing with relief and then hastily apologizing. The Count came running followed closely by his wife and both of them stopped in shock, staring wide-eyed at their daughter. Elizabeta burst into tears of shame and self-disgust, choking out "I-I'm so sorry" over and over. The Countess made a move to step forward but her husband held her back.

"Elizabeta, stop that wailing," the Count commanded and his daughter gasped, trying to hold in her tears. "Go to your room, make yourself presentable and be downstairs in two hours. Your husband is arriving tonight." His tone was cold, and Elizabeta knew he was beyond furious, but reigning himself in. As she walked by him to the stairs, he asked without looking at her, "Are you alright?"

She turned to look at him, hopeful. "Yes, Father." He nodded, face relaxing slightly, and turned back into his study, taking her mother with him. Elizabeta's heart leapt – it wasn't forgiveness but it was a start. She grinned and hurried for her room.

Her hair was entangled in twigs and leaves, and a streak of mud covered the right side of her face. She looked a fright. No wonder Lara had screamed upon seeing her. Apparently, bathing in a stream was an ineffective way of getting clean. The bath water was drawn and Elizabeta submerged herself, while a maid helped her wash her hair. Finished, she wrapped herself in a gown and walked out.

Lara was waiting, a disgruntled expression on her face. "You ought to be properly smacked," she said, pushing Elizabeta down to sit at the vanity. "The way you behaved. We were all worried sick." With expert experienced hands, she brushed through the wet tangles, dried them with a towel, and then twisted and pinned the strands into elegant curls that gathered into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. A few curls fell softly to frame Elizabeta's face. Lara finished the look with glittering pins that she jabbed into the bun, perhaps slightly harder than she needed to, but Elizabeta didn't complain. She deserved it.

"Get up. You need to dress," Lara commanded. A rich hunter green gown was lying on the bed. The skirt was wide with slits to show cream panels underneath and it was embroidered with leaves and small cream flowers around the base. The bodice laced up tightly and Elizabeta hugged the pillar of her four-poster bed, as Lara tugged the strings as far as they would go then tied them swiftly. A thin shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She looked at herself in the mirror, barely able to recognize the sophisticated woman who looked back at her. This was it. She was ready.

She turned back to Lara, who looked back at her stonily. "I'm sorry," Elizabeta whispered. "Truly I am."

Lara's face softened. "It's not my place to say anything, but I don't think you acted properly. You have a lot to be thankful for, and his Lordship is setting you up with a good life. Be happy, milady." Elizabeta's friend, confidant, placed a hand on her cheek and tilted her face up. "Chin up. Everything will be fine, you'll see." Then she curtseyed and left.

Elizabeta made her way quickly downstairs into the drawing room where they would receive their guests. Her mother and father were already waiting. The Countess rose and moved toward her, enveloping her in a warm hug.

"You look beautiful, darling." Elizabeta hugged her back fiercely, trying to convey all of her emotions at once. Her father looked her up and down once then nodded his approval.

Suddenly a knock came at the door and Tomi, the butler, entered as stiff and starched as usual. Elizabeta's heart began to race and she started to tremble. Her stomach flipped over as she realized that her future was standing just outside the door. Her mother placed a hand lightly over her back in silent support.

"The Baron and Baroness Edelstein and their son," he announced, before standing aside. A tall stick-like man walked in followed by a short woman who seemed to be drowning in eggplant-colored ruffles. They were a completely mismatched yet perfect couple. The man went straight to Count Hérderváry and shook his hand as the two mothers embraced in a loud clash of silk, color, and chattering.

"Most pleased to see you are well," the Baron said in a jovial wheezing voice that seemed completely unsuited for his pointy hawk-like face.

"Yes, same here," the Count boomed happily. "Might I introduce my daughter, Elizabeta?" She curtseyed and was immediately set upon by the Baroness who pinched her cheeks and exclaimed upon just "how precious" the girl was and "what a perfect match they would make".

"Where is my head?" the Baron said suddenly. "My son, Roderich." Elizabeta's head whipped up in surprise to see a thin figure standing unobtrusively behind his parents and staring at her in familiar wide-eyed shock. Then, his lips quirked up ever so slightly and his eyes glinted with suppressed laughter.

Roderich stepped forward, took Elizabeta's hand and kissed it like he had done just hours before. "Very pleased to meet you, Miss Elizabeta."

She curtseyed and blushed prettily, before saying in an exaggerated falsetto, "The pleasure is all mine, sir. _Prissy boy_," she added in a whisper. He snorted, covering it up with a cough. "I wonder sir," she continued, "if you know how to play piano? I am _so_ dreadful myself, though I love to hear it, but I can't tell my Mozart from Beethoven." He glared at her.

"Of course. Chopin then?" He sat at the piano and she took a seat right beside him on the bench. His parents shared a look of amazement when he did not stiffly request her to leave (as he usually did) but shifted slightly to allow her more room. Music filled the air and everyone sat quietly, listening to the magic being worked.

"You know, my friend," Count Hérderváry said, leaning in to whisper to the Baron, as he watched the couple lost in their own world. "I do think this will be easier than we thought."

"Yes," the Baroness interrupted. "Yes I do think so. How do you feel about a May wedding?"

"Why, that's only four months away!" the Countess exclaimed.

"Yes, but…"

And the music played on.

* * *

**Thank you for reading :D**


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